


The Third Continent

by ancalime8301



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary reads Watson's manuscript of The Sign of Four and wonders about Watson's three continents of experience with women.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Continent

**Author's Note:**

> Mary reads Watson's manuscript of The Sign of Four and wonders about Watson's three continents of experience with women.  
> A/N: Written for the [](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/)**watsons_woes** July Writing Prompt: _'Three Continents Watson.': We know that two of them are Europe and Asia. But what is the third, and why was Watson there? Tell us!_

Mary quite enjoyed reading my manuscripts before I sent them off to be published, and in this case she was particularly eager, for it was the story of how we met. She was only a few pages in when she paused, looked up at me, and said, "'Three separate continents', John? I am quite flattered, of course, by the compliment that concludes the sentence but I had not realized you were so wild in your youth."

I flushed and stammered some excuse. She smiled sweetly and returned to her reading.

After supper that evening, we sat in quiet companionship before the fire when she said contemplatively, "From what I know of your history, I cannot come up with a third continent, though Africa seems the most likely. Pray tell, what was it?"

I blushed again and said, "America, not Africa. My brother and I spent a summer in Boston with our uncle when I was eighteen."

"Why?"

"My father died toward the end of the spring term and my mother did not think herself equal to keeping us both in hand during the school holiday--Henry had failed out of university in the fall and was driving her quite mad at home. Her brother had emigrated to Boston a few years earlier and claimed to be doing well for himself, so she arranged for us to spend the summer months with him to keep us out of trouble and perhaps give Henry better prospects than he seemed to have before him here at home."

"Did you have much contact with women, then?" she teased. "Is your experience personal, or merely the result of observation?"

I shrugged with one shoulder. "My uncle was very fond of feminine company but refused to wed. I saw many things that summer, some that I didn't understand at the time. As you already know, I did not first bed a woman until later."

I had already confessed to her that she was not my first bedmate, but still I was relieved when she did not pursue that topic any further. "What was your uncle's business in Boston?"

I waved a hand dismissively. "Something to do with patents. The Americans were quite keen to register their every invention so they could have the credit--and the profit--if the idea proved successful. Henry was not interested in pursuing that business, but at least he was motivated to return to university and finish his degree."

"A useful journey, then," she said kindly. "Do you ever wish to return to America?"

"I never thought about it," I admitted, "So I suppose the answer is no. It was an interesting time, but why would I wish to go back with all the good things I have here?"

Mary smiled brilliantly and reached over to squeeze my hand. I returned the pressure and she changed the subject to lighter fare.

That night when we retired to bed, we did not sleep until I had driven all thoughts of other women and any doubts about my affection for her and her alone far from her mind. She was a forgiving woman, far more than I deserved, and in this, at least, I could use my experience to please her.


End file.
